


King of Mini-Golf

by HandsomeManExpress (DangerousCommieSubversive)



Category: Chikara (Professional Wrestling)
Genre: Gen, mini-golf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5220527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/HandsomeManExpress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King of Trios. But...mini golf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	King of Mini-Golf

 How did he get here? When did his life get to this point?

Baseball had always been Dasher's game. Love of his life. Still, you get on in years, your eyes get weak—you can't hit perfect home runs forever, y'know? But he was still in good shape, and he'd grappled a bit in his youth. So he'd taken up wrestling. Wrestling is _fun._ You get to put on a show. No real harm in it, right?

And now...

Now he's holding an electric blue putter and staring down the dead eyesockets of a grinning cartoon dragon and saying to his step-cousin-in-law, “Look, sport, you can't just punch a guy for getting a higher score than you.”

Mark scowls. “Frightmare doesn't even know how to _play._ ”

(Nearby, Ultramantis Black is saying, seriously, “Fright, you can't use magic to move the ball.”)

“Don't mean you gotta _hit_ him, he doesn't know what he's doing—Icarus, if I see your hand touch that ball we're gonna have words. You take your shots and you get your score, no cheating.”

Icarus straightens up abruptly. “I didn't do anything.”

“Got my eye on you, son.”

Icarus groans and takes three more shots to sink his ball.

Dasher hits a hole-in-one and they move on to the next.

This one has an astronaut. It's kind of unnerving. Mark twists around and shouts, “Hey! Orbit! We found you a date!”

Orbit flubs his first putt at the hole he's at. Missile Assault Ant makes a rude gesture. “Missile Assault Ant!”

Dasher scowls. “You watch your mouth, buddy. You too, Mark, give it a rest.”

_“Dasher—”_

“ _What'd_ I say? Be a good sport and take your shot.”

Mark just grumbles as he lines up for the putt.

Just as he's hitting, there's a cackle behind him, and he jumps. His orange gold ball pings off a barrier and hits Icarus in the back of the head.

“What the fuck was—Chuck!”

Dasher grabs the back of Icarus' shirt. “Language! What'd I _say?_ Taylor, you get your butt back to your own team.”

Drew is getting ready to putt three holes back. He hits a hole-in-one, but as the ball is falling in, Orange throws up on it.

Chuck makes a vague whining noise. “Don't make me go back there.”

“Get!”

Chuck hangs his head and walks back over to rejoin his team as they try to find a way to get the vomit off Drew's golf ball.

Dasher turns around to see Icarus backing quickly away from their hole and grinning. “Got it in two! Go me!”

Dasher gives him a hard look.

Mark says, “I didn't see him do anything.”

“Sure you didn't, sport.” Dasher sighs and sinks another neat hole-in-one. “Let's keep on, we haven't got all day.”

The next hole is presided over by a shabby pirate. They all look at it sidelong, uneasy, and Mark mutters, “It looks like Jolly.”

“That it does. Eerie, is what it is.” Dasher shudders. “Makes a man worry. Who _designed_ this place?”

“What _I_ want to know is, whose idea was it to drag us all here?”

Dasher and Mark both blink at Icarus. “You're not having fun?”

* * *

 

Unfortunately, of all the people who could have turned out to be good at mini-golf, the day's champion is Nøkken, who gets the BDK such an astonishing victory that Mark promptly starts sulking.

Dasher sighs again—it seems like he's spent a lot of the day sighing. “Don't take it so hard, champ, it's only mini-golf.”

Mark scowls. “ _Nerds,_ though.”

Jakob gestures lewdly at him from across the room and shouts something in German. Dasher doesn't know _exactly_ what he said, he doesn't _speak_ German, but he knows it's nothing good. He's out of his chair and standing in front of Mark in seconds. “You wanna come over here and say that again, pal?”

Jakob gapes at him and then edges quietly behind Nøkken. “Not especially, thank you.”

“Then keep a civil tongue in your head.”

Mark buries his head in his hands. “I hate golf.”

“You'll get better at it, sport.” Dasher rubs the back of Mark's neck. “Just takes time. Wanna go get some ice cream?”

“I'm not _ten._ ”

“So you _don't_ want ice cream.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Let's go get ice cream.” There's a frightened noise nearby, and Dasher looks over to see who's making it and sighs. “Didn't mean _you._ ”


End file.
